


Shaken, not Stirred

by ALC_Punk



Category: Excalibur (Comic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-29
Updated: 2008-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Destiny Can be so Hard, so Kick it in the Balls"; Kitty starts to come to terms with the changes in her relationship to Pete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaken, not Stirred

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty certain this fic is shameless.

This was a mistake. Kitty thinks it, but doesn't voice it. If she turns her head, she'll see Pete's shoulder, a little further and she'll see the scratches she laid into his side when he was particularly obtuse.

It (it, and not 'sex', not 'making love', though she cringed away from that even as a wide-eyed teenager) had been interesting, both of them different now, and yet the same. Re-learning each other, discovering what didn't work anymore (and what worked better)--Kitty wonders if that's a bad thing.

But the sex had still been fantastic, that first orgasm making her see stars (though it might have been her head slamming into the headboard that did it), Pete smug as he kissed his way across her chest again.

She feels no shame in the satisfaction she gets, turning her head and seeing where her teeth left a mark in his shoulder.

Maybe when she's no longer here, back in the real world, she'll blush a little at the passion that made it feel right to bite down on him as he thrust deeper.

There are finger marks on her hips, and a bruise on one shoulder when she shifted too early and he slammed her up against the headboard.

Kitty can't help the satisfied little sound she makes when she stretches, feeling the strain her muscles and body.

This was a mistake, and she knows it, even with the post-orgasmic languor making her want to sleep.

It's something she'll have to deal with in the morning.

-*-

She doesn't leave, of course. There's something too easy about falling into Pete's routine, of smiling and joking. So she does it, because it's not sunshine and laughter, not the mansion and a team grown increasingly bitter. It's not the lighthouse, where she was happy.

Pete adjusts to her, letting her help him finagle funds out of myriad agencies to fund his own. Maybe it's theft and maybe it isn't, neither of them question it too closely. She avoids Brian and the others, doesn't ask after them all that much. Sometimes, Pete babbles on about what he's doing and she listens, but she doesn't listen in the way he probably expects.

-*-

Two weeks into her 'fling', as she's trying to rationalize it to herself (though not aloud to Wisdom, that would never do), Kitty wakes from a dream of warm summer winds and a laughing toddler. Pete's next to her, snoring the way he always does, as though the world could end and he wouldn't notice (she knows better, he'll wake on the instant if sound intrudes). For a moment, she tries to take some sort of comfort in him being there, in the warm, solid weight of him pressed up against her side, one arm casually thrown over her waist.

But it's not enough. The dream lingers, taunting her with might-have-beens, and Kitty digs her nails into her palms, wishing she had Jean Grey's taste in nail-length when they do nothing at all.

Kitty shifts, hating that the dream is back, that she can't will it to be over and gone. That Emma was so fucking good at this mind-fuckery she can still taste the happiness that was there, digging under her skin like she's lost a piece of herself.

Half-awake, Pete mumbles something against the pillow.

It pulls her a little from the dream, the remnants reluctantly starting to fade.

One thought follows another, and Kitty wonders if she's mad or desperate as she turns to Pete, pushes him over on his back and kisses him. "Pete," she whispers, grabbing his hands and pressing them against her skin. "Please."

And maybe it's just that he's a guy, or maybe that it's her (a thought she can't entertain too long), but he wakes enough to be appreciative, wakes enough to answer her demands, mouth and hands sending fire along her veins, chasing the last of the dream away. There is no sunshine and laughter, only darkness and Pete Wisdom. When he pulls her down onto him, she moans, long and low, nails digging into his sides.

Kitty comes hard, her back arched, her eyes wide and staring at nothing. The sweat slick on her skin, she drops slowly towards Pete again, hands stroking up his chest. "C'mon, Wisdom," she murmurs, breath barely caught. "That all you got?"

"Nah--" he's awake now, more awake than she probably wants, really. His hands close hard on her hips and he rolls, pinning her against the mattress, sliding deeper.

The moan that comes out of her mouth makes her want to blush. He feels so good against her, and when he starts moving again, she thinks about how she once thought sex was a little boring and pointless. It's almost too soon, and her nerves are shot as she focuses on keeping up with him.

Pete's mouth closes on her shoulder, teeth digging in slightly and Kitty's concentration breaks into a million pieces.

Afterwards, she doesn't take her hands from his sides, though she can feel the scratches underneath her fingers. How many times had she shifted and pulled at him?

"That enough?" he asks, voice hoarse. "Anymore, and y'might kill me."

Kitty barely remembers why she'd started this, "It's enough," she whispers, hands sliding across his back, keeping him close and pressed down against her.

They're almost asleep again, when he shifts to the side with a strange sound. "Pryde?"

"Hrm?"

His hand tugs at hers, then he freezes a little, like he's making a decision of some sort, and Kitty suddenly wants to jump up and run. "I love you." The words are said on a bare whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear.

Maybe she shouldn't have.

"Don't need to..." his thumb rubs over her fingers, then he lets her hand go.

And she lets him. He retreats a little, a small space causing a gap between them in the bed. She wants it to go away, because she's still sweat-damp and cold. But she can't do what he needs. She can't be what anyone needs, some days.

Kitty doesn't know when he falls asleep again, but the sun's tingeing the apartment a dirty grey before her eyes close.

-*-

The dreams stay away for a while. One week, two. Three, and they're laughing outside the Crown, barely keeping each other upright as they head back to Wisdom's flat.

When they get back, it takes Pete four tries before Kitty just swears and phases them through the door and into his flat, his keys still held in his hand as he tries to fumble one of them into the lock.

"You are so drunk," she teases, pushing him towards the wall which should hold him up long enough for her to find some water.

"Doesn't seem to bother you," he retorts, catching her up against the wall faster than he should be able to, given his state of inebriation. "Hey, baby," he murmurs, kissing her cheek and neck, like he can't quite work out where her mouth is.

Kitty doesn't remember how much he drank, having spent time making contacts again, buying rounds--she's hot and tired and a little on edge. Pete's mouth on her neck is like an electric shock and she lets out a soft little moan, catching at his hair and dragging his mouth to hers. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey, strong enough to make her cough a little, but she doesn't care after a moment.

The small table by the door falls over with a crash that sets them both laughing when he tries to set her on it, his aim just a little off.

"Desk--" Kitty suggests, already backing towards the other room, pulling her shirt over her head.

"Desk," Pete agrees, undoing his trousers and tripping over them to fall flat on his nose.

The sight is too much and Kitty starts laughing hard enough to grab onto the doorjamb for support. She clings, laughing and giggling as Pete tries to reassert his dignity, slowly regaining his knees and then his feet, his trousers still tangled around his ankles.

It takes a moment for her to realize he's holding something out to her. "You've got mail."

Kitty's laughing as she takes the envelope, not really considering that there aren't many people who know where she is. The laughter dies in her throat as she catches sight of the return address, the handwriting a distinctive scrawl.

She doesn't want to read the letter in her hand. The blast of cold reality warns her it will end everything.

"Pryde?"

"I, uh... Pull your pants up, Wisdom," she mutters before fleeing into the bathroom. The door locks, after all.

-*-

Pete's dead to the world, sprawled on the couch when she finally emerges. She looks at him for a moment before disappearing into the bedroom. She falls asleep, curled up with a pillow in her arms.

In the morning, she can deal with the letter and its implications.

She doesn't wake fully when Wisdom joins her, she simply shifts closer to his warmth.

-*-

It's too early when she wakes, cocooned in blankets and Pete Wisdom. She turns her head to look at him in the darkness, tracing the slight outline she can see. The differentiation between the pale skin and the darker sheets.

She should leave. She should answer the letter and leave, go back to the X-Men, to the life she knows best. The life she's supposed to have with laughter and picket fences and children and Piotr Rasputin wrapping her in his arms. He loves her, after all. Loves her enough to come back to life for her, to let her have her own time to be herself.

Piotr understands Kitty running away to London.

The thought tastes like ash, and she slips from the bed, padding on bare feet into the kitchenette.

Making coffee is a rote task, letting her brain loose to think too hard, so she sets it the task of random numbers, Fibonacci sequences, and finally primes with five digits. The smell of the coffee grounds makes her head swim a little and she closes her eyes, reeling for a moment, enjoying the slight disconnect before her cold toes bring her back to solid ground.

Wisdom's leaning in the doorway, looking at her when she turns her head to find the coffee pot.

"Leavin', then?"

"I--"

He shrugs, "I knew where it was from, I just..." he looks away, his face twisted a little.

"We can't keep doing this." Kitty starts. Then she stops, because it sounds so stupid. Doing what? Being near each other? They've avoided each other pretty fucking easily since he walked out of her life. A bitter laugh escapes her.

"Doing what, Pryde?"

"I--" She sighs, but meets his eyes, "I'm not going back. Do you want cream with your coffee?"

-*-

Pete doesn't ask why, doesn't push, and doesn't turn her down when she climbs into his lap ten minutes after they're done eating breakfast.

Afterwards, Kitty's leaning back against the table, not yet feeling the metal of the edge digging into her back. Pete's head is tipped back, his blue eyes staring at the ceiling. Pushing up and leaning forward, she kisses the base of his throat.

"It was a dream," she murmurs, "A dream that never happened. Frost--" she flinches, and his hands brush up her sides, soothing her a little. "She got into my head, made me believe..." There's no way to finish that. Not yet, so Kitty ducks and covers, curling against his chest.

Pete finally shifts after a while, "Legs are asleep."

"Mm. Sorry." She pulls free and stands.

"It never happened," he says as he stands, "Whatever she did to you, it was all in your head."

"Yeah, I know."

He reaches out and cups her shoulder in his hand, "You never intended to stay, did you?"

"Pete."

"'S all right, I--"

"No--" Kitty moves, catches his hands and looks him in the eye. "I can't--I can't pretend it's all ok, Pete. But I know this is better."

He looks at her for a long moment, then nods, "I can wait, Pryde."

For a fleeting instant, Kitty wants to spill it all, wants to talk about Emma and Piotr, about children she's never had and sunshine and laughter. But the words choke her up and she closes her eyes and leans in, forehead against his shoulder. "Could be a while," she whispers.

"Pryde, I'm a secret agent man, I got all the fuckin' time in the world."

She ignores the tears choking her and laughs softly, "My personal James Bond, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, baby. Just call me shaken not stirred."


End file.
